He Says His Heart Is A Broken Wishbone Poem by Mark Heathcote

He says his heart is a broken wishbone.
Hung, drawn and quartered.
But do tell me what treason he committed.
That you! Should now deliver him to purgatory?
That you! Should send him to hell.

Love is such a vanquished thing an injured cub
When all doesn't go smoothly and well,
'Love, go ahead.' Carve your Sunday roast:
Let the lawyers and the jackals
Eat and tear out my breast bones clean.

I don't care much more for your love.
Because even a hollowed-out
-Broken Wishbone can sing and whistle.
Once, I loved the bones of you,
But you weren't -good to me.

I don't care to take up residence in purgatory.
And be lonely, loving you only in hell.
Hung, drawn and quartered.
But please do tell me-
What treason did I commit before I go
And you carve your Sunday roast to the bone.